


Crazy Good

by Mandibles



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Because yes, Bed Humping, Intercrural Sex, It's 4AM this time, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Schmoop, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cross-posted from Tumblr. Jackson is obsessed with Scott’s ass. (And then some, apparently.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PilgrimKitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilgrimKitty/gifts).



> As far as I'm concerned, everything Jackson knows about sex, he's learned from Lydia. Just throwin' that out there.

Somehow, even after two months, sex with Jackson continues to be completely and utterly _mind-blowing_. And, Scott just doesn’t get it. Oh, of course making love with Allison never, ever stopped being good, not with the way her mouth moved against his, her fingers through his hair, and she was his first. But it wasn’t anything like this. Not once did she ever throttle the orgasm out of him like Jackson does every single time with grinding and clenching and biting and— _ugh_. God.

That must be it, really: Scott’s learning so much about sex, about himself, from fucking Jackson. Like that, that word. Whenever Scott and Allison had sex, he had been adamant about referring to it as ‘making love.’ Call him sappy. Jackson, though, put a quick end to that with a sneer and obscenely spread legs. “I’m not her,” he’d snapped, digging his heels into the mattress. “You’re _fucking_ me, McCall. You’re going to _fuck_ me and you’re going to _breed_ me,” he added and though Scott didn’t quite understand the word then— _breed_ —it still made him growl in return.

And, he _fucked_ Jackson through the mattress. Almost literally if the creaking and cracking of the bed was anything to go by.

He’s learned about breeding and orgasm denial and frot and, right now, Scott’s clutching Jackson’s legs tightly, like his life depends on it, while he huffs and thrusts his cock into tightly-pressed thighs, slick with sweat and precum and it’s so _filthy_. He can’t even imagine what they look like with Scott mounted over Jackson, slightly hunched and humping fitfully between Jackson’s soft inner thighs, sliding across his taint and balls in the process.  He actually wonders what _Jackson_ must look like, if his face is scrunched or if he’s biting his lip; it’s not like he can tell, his eyes burning from the sweat that rolls down his face, soaks his hair.

Everything is sweat and friction and Scott’s never experienced anything so fucking fantastic in his life and, god, he’s never _loved_ something or someone— _everything_ —as much as he does right now. Somehow, though he’s not inside Jackson, inexplicably connecting them, this still feels just as intimate if not more so.

“Fuck yeah, McCall, just— _yeah_ ,” Jackson mewls, breathless, beneath him. His hands, fingers, turned and sharp, carve lines down the headboard. “Jesus fucking Christ, this— I just— _fuck_ —want your come, McCall. Want it all over me. Want—want—” Oh man, he’s such a _cumslut_.

Dirty talk. Dirty talk just kills Scott, especially when Jackson becomes a horny, babbling mess like this. Scott pants, open-mouthed and wet, against Jackson’s ankles as he moves and moves and pushes and pushes. “Jackson,” leaves his mouth once and it quickly becomes the only coherent thing that can leave his throat. He clings to it, that one name, and it’s what he yells when he finally can’t fight the way his balls draw up, his eyes glow, his stomach clenches, his cock _fires_ , sticky strings of white striping Jackson’s stomach, his chest, his _chin_.

Jackson groans low, feral, as his tongue lolls out, hoping to catch anything and everything. Gagging for it, Scott thinks, and it’s the last real thought he has as he drops Jackson’s legs, sinks onto Jackson’s come and sweat-slicked body.

See? Mind-blowing. Amazing and overwhelming and _all kinds_ of crazy good. Without doing a damn thing, Jackson just wrung a hella strong orgasm out of him, made him drain his balls empty. This _never_ happened with Allison.

The first thing that Scott registers after what could very well be seconds, minutes, or hours. his body still tingling and spasming with aftershocks, are the lips that glide over his, a warm tongue dipping in now and again. When he stirs, starts to respond with a smack of lips, Jackson chuckles into his mouth.

“Want more, McCall,” Jackson whispers when they pull apart. His hands scratch down his back and Scott purrs appreciatively, sleepily. “Come on, move your ass so I can come on it.”

With a groan, Scott complies and rolls off, settles on his stomach. He barely gets to breathe before Jackson’s up and poised behind them; two hands knead his cheeks and a cock rests hot and hard along his crack. Scott presses back because, yeah, usually he’s the one on top, but he likes this, too, likes the way Jackson’s cock rubs against him, even likes it _in_ him, and he’s so tired, so completely spent, that he’s not going to say no.

“Shit, McCall, you don’t even know how much I love your ass.” There’s the sound of spitting and the cock is gone, but there’s still that oh so familiar squelching sound. Scott hears Jackson stroke himself, hears his breath hitch, hears the bed creak as Jackson plants his knees on either side of Scott’s thighs. The bed shifts as Jackson’s legs flex, as he starts to thrust and stroke in earnest. “God, do you know what I want to do to it? Do you?”

Scott swallows the anxious rush of saliva that gathers on his tongue. “F-Fuck it? Do you want to fuck me?” It’s his way of granting permission, because Jackson always asks before he does. Despite whatever power struggle they’ve got going on outside the sheets, Jackson doesn’t forget who’s higher up in the hierarchy. Nothing happens here unless Scott wants it (and, luckily, Scott always wants whatever Jackson offers).

“No.” Scott can feel the puff of air on his spine. “No, I wanna rim you.”

“‘Rim’ me?” It’s a term that hasn’t entered the conversation before.

“I wanna lick your ass.” Jackson’s voice is husky, breathless. His strokes are loud, the sound drier, frantic; he’s close. “Can I, Scott? Please? Fuck, please? _Please_?” This is the Jackson he loves the most, the one that’s just approaching the edge, the threshold, the brink of body-quaking orgasm. The one that calls him Scott so easily, like they meet like this every week—almost every day—for something more than dirty, filthy, wet _fucking_. “Come _on_ , Scott!”

The plea is strange, shocking, but Scott finds himself nodding, his arms curling around the pillow. He’s loved everything Jackson’s showed him in the past, and this seems no different. “I—Yeah. _Shit_ yeah. Go for it.”

Jackson must take that as consent to come as well—though he’s never needed that, never with Scott. A sob tears through the air and there’s the familiar spattering of heat across his cheeks, over his hole. Fuck, he wishes he had seen it, the tight look he knows pinches Jackson’s face.

After a moment the bed shifts again and warm breath ghosts down his back. Scott gasps at the sudden touch of tongue on skin, Jackson’s tongue working in long, flat strokes over the mounds of his ass, clearing him of his own cooling spunk.

“What do you think?” It’s good to know that Jackson sounds just as muzzy as Scott feels.

Scott exhales deeply through his nostrils. “I think you missed a spot.” Jackson snorts behind him and he feels his face tingle with a blush. Fuck, that sounded more suave in his head.

Jackson presses a small kiss to his tailbone. “Mm, let’s see if I can fix that for you.” Seriously, that isn’t fair. Jackson could’ve been talking about a sink or something and it would still sound sexy. How does that even work?

He doesn’t get the chance to complain, though, because thumbs spread his cheeks and breath ghosts over his hole. Then, the breath dips lower, down to Scott’s balls pressed against the sheets. Scott hums at the familiar, thin tickling of Jackson’s tongue teasing the hair and crinkly skin, but it quickly melds into a moan ventures upward across his taint and ending on his brown pucker. Scott’s suddenly a bundle of anxious nerve endings as Jackson laps at him with broad strokes, licking up come quickly and efficiently.

Heat, electricity, surge up his cock and, heh, it isn’t long before he’s already half-hard. Scott grins into the pillow, because sex with Jackson really is the _best_. There’s nothing Jackson can do that he wouldn’t like.

He starts to drowsily grind into the bed when Jackson’s tongue starts to probe, flicking over his hole once, twice, three times, before gently pressing. Scott sucks in a breath then exhales, lets his body relax, trust, because he does trust Jackson a whole fucking lot, surprisingly. And, it’s trust placed in good hands, because when that tongue finally breaches him, reaches as far as it can with Jackson’s nose pushing into his crack and his hands still squeezing his cheeks, there is nothing but that sweet, deep, roll of pleasure.

“Oh man,” he breathes, rocking back into Jackson’s face, his cock dragging across the bed. Jackson moans in response, the sound reverberating and making Scott shiver. “Shit—Jackson, that’s—”

Jackson draws back a fraction, kisses a line down Scott’s ass cheek. “Going to fuck you with my tongue, Scott. Really fuck you. You—”

“ _Fuck yes_. Anything. Just do it.” He reaches back to push him into place, his fingers threading through equally cool hair, still damp from their earlier bout.

Scott can hear then feel Jackson’s smile as he sets back to work, his mouth moving back into place. His tongue darts in and out, fucking just as he said he would, and all Scott can do is ride it, ride it and hump the mattress in the process. They discover an easy rhythm between them as they always do; it isn’t long before Scott is panting wetly into the pillow, so, so close. His cock’s full, pulses with every fitful grind. Then, somehow _teeth_ enters the equation, Jackson retracting his tongue and scraping. Scott spasms, jerks so violently at the strike of sudden pleasure that _he’s_ not even sure if he came or not.

But, no, no he’s still on that shore, just waiting for the tide to come in, to crest over him.

Scott forgets about Jackson’s teeth, his tongue, Jackson altogether, as he’s overwhelmed by that base need to release what’s building behind his balls. He ruts against the mattress in earnest, his face contorted in concentration and desperation, as he chases after it.

Jackson settles a hand on his spine, his erection brushing against his leg. “Shit, Scott, you look so good. Yeah, shoot it; gimme that come.”

Scott does, he comes, grinds against the bed frantically as he rides out the waves of orgasm that crash over him, make him quiver and groan and soak the sheets in the spunk that oozes from his dick. His orgasm is—is just this fucking beautiful thing, you know? This fucking wonderful, beautiful thing that leaves him deaf, blind, and dumb as he just writhes with it, rides with it, for what could really be forever.

Jackson eases beside him as he lowers from his high, and, fuck, though he’s really out of it now, really spent, he still has enough sense to turn on his side and usher Jackson into his arms. He gropes blindly for the hard dick he knows is there somewhere and knows he’s gotten it when Jackson gasps. It doesn’t take long, just a few quick, dry twists over the head, and Jackson mewls, wets them both with come.

And, that’s the end of it for them. They’ll be crusty and gross in the morning if they leave it like this, but Scott doesn’t really care to move _ever_. Scott really wants to pull Jackson’s face to his, to kiss him until they both suffocate, but, deciding that’s more effort than it’s worth, he settles for throwing a possessive leg over Jackson’s hip.

“Love you,” he mumbles into Jackson’s hair, incapable of even keeping his eyes open.

Jackson, in return, musters enough energy to hold on a little tighter, but then he’s out cold, the beginnings of a snore rumbling through him.

Scott smiles and drifts off himself.


End file.
